


On the Roll of a Dice

by MistressParamore



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack Pairings, Cross-Generation Relationship, Cross-cultural, Cross-species Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fear of Discovery, Female Characters, Female Friendship, Female Homosexuality, Female Relationships, Gen, Het and Slash, LGBTQ Female Character, M/M, Male Slash, Multiple Pairings, POV Female Character, Politics, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Powerlessness, Rare Pairings, Surprise Pairing, Undead, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressParamore/pseuds/MistressParamore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is to be a series of vignettes/one-shots on ALL possible pairings for characters specified from the Watch arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lady Sybil Ramkin/Carrot Ironfoundersson

**Author's Note:**

> This exercise has arisen from a challenge I decided to set myself, to see just what I could write. After having made a list, several characters were dropped mainly for the squick value of having them in any conceivable pairing. Some places I just can't go…
> 
> [these included, in no particular order, The Librarian, Detritus (bless his rocky little heart), Reg Shoe…you get the idea…]
> 
> The characters that will be put through the mangle are:
> 
> Sam Vimes; Lady Sybil; Carrot; Angua; Colon; Nobby (!); Cheery; Vetinari; A E Pessimal.
> 
> In order to choose a specific pairing, I will be pulling names out of a hat. Plus, the ratings will be variable and marked clearly on each vignette/one-shot.
> 
> The setting is necessarily AU due to the nature of the pairings and, for the purpose of each one, it may be best to forget all canon pairings unless they are the subject of the vignette. If you are a canon purist or don't like to see characters in unusual situations, it may be best to stop reading. Don't say I haven't warned you!
> 
> I apologise now.

 

The bell clanged in the vast darkness, before a light appeared in the hallway and the door opened.

"Carrot!"

The red headed young man was ushered quickly inside, the older woman looking urgently into his strong, honest face.

"What's happened? Are you alright?" She gripped his arms as she saw the tiredness and resignation in his face.

With a smile, Carrot pulled his arms free and wrapped them easily around Lady Ramkin.

"I am now," he murmured into her neck.

She enjoyed the strength of his embrace for a moment before pulling back slightly and motioning for him to follow her into the drawing room. Carrot tugged off his armour and sank onto the sofa, pulling Sybil down next to him, entwining her hand with his. Sybil sighed softly and leaned her head against his muscular shoulder, trying not to think about the reasons that had brought him to her door at this hour. She knew all too well what they would be.

"I'm sorry Sybil, for – "

"Don't apologise, Carrot," Sybil interrupted.

"He's drinking more than ever." Carrot said after a pause.

"That isn't something we can help," Sybil said gently. "Unless…"

"No." Carrot spoke firmly and with conviction. "Never that." He gently tugged her closer, his blue eyes searching her chocolate ones, before kissing her softly. " _Never_ that," he repeated against her lips.

Sybil smiled up at the young man who had, unbelievably, stolen her heart. And when Carrot said something, you knew it was true.


	2. Havelock Vetinari / Samuel Vimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is to be a series of vignettes/one-shots on ALL possible pairings for characters specified from the Watch arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This exercise has arisen from a challenge I decided to set myself, to see just what I could write. After having made a list, several characters were dropped mainly for the squick value of having them in any conceivable pairing. Some places I just can't go…
> 
> [these included, in no particular order, The Librarian, Detritus (bless his rocky little heart), Reg Shoe…you get the idea…]
> 
> The characters that will be put through the mangle are:
> 
> Sam Vimes; Lady Sybil; Carrot; Angua; Colon; Nobby (!); Cheery; Vetinari; A E Pessimal.
> 
> In order to choose a specific pairing, I will be pulling names out of a hat. Plus, the ratings will be variable and marked clearly on each vignette/one-shot.
> 
> The setting is necessarily AU due to the nature of the pairings and, for the purpose of each one, it may be best to forget all canon pairings unless they are the subject of the vignette. If you are a canon purist or don't like to see characters in unusual situations, it may be best to stop reading. Don't say I haven't warned you!
> 
> I apologise now.

 

* * *

 **Pairing** : Sam Vimes / Havelock Vetinari

 **Rating** : T

* * *

Samuel Vimes stood in front of the Patrician's desk, eyes trained on a spot approximately 2 inches above the man's left shoulder, and allowed himself to tune out the other man's voice.

An unusual pause made him snap back to attention. Vetinari was leaning back in his chair, pale face impassive and fingers steepled against his chin. His penetrating blue eyes were trained intently on Vimes and the unwavering gaze made Vimes break out into a slight sweat, desperately trying to rewind the last few minutes of conversation in his head and failing.

"Sir?"

Without looking away, Vetinari reached for the small silver bell that sat at his elbow and rang it briskly. Within seconds, his clerk, Drumknott, appeared noiselessly, his pasty face just as impassive as his master's.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Please see that I am not disturbed until I instruct otherwise."

"Yes, my lord." Without another glance, Drumknott silently left the Oblong office, pulling the door closed behind him.

Vetinari continued scrutinising the watchman in front of him, eyes narrowed, face impassive, and allowed the already strained silence to stretch yet further until he saw a vein begin to throb in Vimes' forehead.

Softly, Vetinari broke the silence.

"I give you orders; you break them with impunity. I make decisions for the good of this city; you crash through them like a bull in a china shop. You are supposed to uphold the law, yet you flout it to follow your own interests. In your weekly briefing you stand here, barely short of insolent, and don't even have the grace. To. Listen."

The last two words were dropped like lead weights into the vast ocean of conversation that was swimming around Vimes.

Vetinari stood, like a carnivorous flamingo of retribution.

"Even here," he sneered. "Even behind this desk I can smell the stale alcohol, the pitiful remains of your life being drunk away day after day, night after night. Is this what you hoped for, Vimes?"

Vimes remained silent as he sullenly stared defiantly at the Patrician in front of him.

_As if you care, my life is none of your damned business. This is just another ploy for your own ends. My life might be shit, but it's MY life…_

"What will it take, I wonder, for you to  _listen_?" Vetinari hissed out the last word, closing the gap between them until mere inches separated them.

Suddenly, with the speed of an assassin, Vetinari's hand shot around the back of Vimes' head and roughly gripped his hair forcing the man's face towards Vetinari's own. Wind-chapped lips parted against thin lips, virginal to another man's touch.

Two pairs of lips met in a kiss that  _shouldn't_  have happened,  _shouldn't_  have been so exciting,  _shouldn't_  have been arousing,  _shouldn't_  have made them moan,  _shouldn't_  have led to them grappling with each other's robes and stumbling back against the large mahogany desk…

It  _shouldn't_. It  _shouldn't_.

* * *

_Um. Comments?_


	3. Sgt Fred Colon and Cpl C W St J Nobbs (Nobby)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is to be a series of vignettes/one-shots on ALL possible pairings for characters specified from the Watch arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is to be a series of vignettes/one-shots on ALL possible pairings for characters specified from the Watch arc. You may disagree with some of the characters included, but clearly every single one couldn't be used.
> 
> This exercise has arisen from a challenge I decided to set myself, to see just what I could write. After having made a list, several characters were dropped mainly for the squick value of having them in any conceivable pairing. Some places I just can't go…
> 
> [these included, in no particular order, The Librarian, Detritus (bless his rocky little heart), Reg Shoe…you get the idea…]
> 
> The characters that will be put through the mangle are:
> 
> Sam Vimes; Lady Sybil; Carrot; Angua; Colon; Nobby (!); Cheery; Vetinari; A E Pessimal.
> 
> In order to choose a specific pairing, I will be pulling names out of a hat. Plus, the ratings will be variable and marked clearly on each vignette/one-shot.
> 
> The setting is necessarily AU due to the nature of the pairings and, for the purpose of each one, it may be best to forget all canon pairings unless they are the subject of the vignette.
> 
> If you are a canon purist or don't like to see characters in unusual situations, it may be best to stop reading. Don't say I haven't warned you!
> 
> I apologise now!

**On the Roll of a Dice**

* * *

**Pairing** : Sgt Fred Colon / Cpl C W St J Nobbs (Nobby)  
 **Rating** : T

* * *

There were times, usually late at night, when the rain was hammering down and the night felt as if morning would never arrive and the bleakness wrapped itself around your heart like a cancer, that the urge to comfort and be comforted was too strong to resist.

It had started, as these things do, with solace, with trying to cheer up a colleague. A heated look, alcohol induced courage and bad judgement, and a pattern began, neither of them discussing what was happening or indeed why it happened. It just WAS. Like the sky, like tomorrow, like Vetinari and taxes, it just WAS. Reality and perception was suspended for the duration, ramifications if discovered were never considered. Time and place did not exist in this bubble, a different reality was forged from the lies they told themselves. A reality too brittle to survive the light of day, made from touch, feeling, sensation, a raw need that blazed far too strong to survive beyond the blessed darkness of the night, that hid guilt and shame.

* * *

There's a hesitant tap on the door. Outside a crescent moon winked thorough the grimy window, as if it too was in on the joke. The figure clambering to open the door pays it no heed, there's more important things to do. As the door is opened, a sliver of light spills momentarily into the room, before the door swings back closed. There is a rustle, abruptly cut short.

"Bloody hell Nobby, not the dress!"  
"But Fred..."

*pause*

"Take the wig off!"

* * *

_**Comments...? *hides*** _


	4. Lady Sybil Ramkin & Havelock Vetinari

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See previous chapters for the explanation of how this particular collection came about and the characters involved.

 

 

The noise of the soirée curled around them both like the cigarette smoke that rose delicately up towards the exquisite crystal chandeliers high above. They both stood lost in their own thoughts, albeit for very different reasons - both having their own private reasons for seeking the shelter of this particular corner.

He tips his glass fractionally towards her in a placating gesture, the silent question accompanied by a suggestive quirk of an eyebrow. She smiles slightly, the dimple in her cheek showing her affection, and shakes her head.

They resume their apparent interest in the multitude of passing guests, nodding slightly every now and then as pleasantries are exchanged, greetings passed on and acknowledgements made.

After a long silence, he turns slightly, and places his glass on a nearby table, resuming his former position and clasping his hands behind his back.

"And here we are," he says softly, examining the lamp in his immediate line of sight with every sign of engrossment.

"I'm sorry Havelock?" She returns after a moment, looking down into her glass.

"The two most rich and powerful individuals in the city, unwed and single, standing in a corner at a party," he said sardonically with a mocking tut.

"What are you saying Havelock?" She turns to him in surprise, narrowing chocolate brown eyes at the taller man in front of her.

"I know  _my_  reasons for being, ah, antisocial," he murmured, icy blue eyes boring into hers, "but  _you_ , my dear Lady Ramkin, what could make  _you_  stand in a corner on your own all night?"

"You know very well I'm not one for parties Havelock, so stop it," she said sharply.

Amused, he raised an eyebrow. "What could a Lady such as  _you_  be hiding from I wonder?" He murmured as he stepped slightly closer to her. "Or, should that be, _whom_?"

Despite the number of people in the room, she felt exposed and vulnerable as the tall man stepped into her personal space, his gaze never wavering from hers. He bent down slightly so his mouth was by her ear, the heat of his breath on such a sensitive place causing an involuntary shiver that she  _knew_  he wouldn't have missed.

"I have some excellent whisky and an empty diary."

Without looking back at her, he swept past her and out of the room.

* * *

**_Comments?_ **


	5. Sergeant Fred Colon & Angua von Uberwald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See previous chapters for the explanation of how this particular collection came about and the characters involved.

Sergeant Colon muffled a yawn as he leaned back in his chair behind the Duty Sergeant's desk at Pseudopolis Yard and tilted his helmet down slightly, intending to have a quick snooze. The rest of the shift had clocked off for the night, and the night patrols were well into their beats. He figured he was due some down time - not least because Mr Vimes was nowhere in sight.

A frantic scrabbling at the door jerked him back into full wakefulness with the cold efficiency of 3 cups of black coffee. Swallowing the lump in his throat he heaved himself out of his chair and pulled up his armour to sit more comfortably over his rotund stomach.

Sweating slightly, he approached the front door of the Yard, the scrabbling intensifying. Closing his eyes as sweat ran down his neck, he opened the door prepared to see, well, he didn't know what, but he'd heard the wizards up at the university talk about gharstly fings from the dawna time wot no man should of...

What he did, in fact, see, was a blonde blur, as a wolverine shape slunk past, paws padding on the wooden floor and whining as it scented the air.  
As Colon gazed nonplussed at Angua, the texture of the air altered, her transition from wolf to human making his eyeballs ache.  
Shrinking behind the nearest desk to cover her nakedness, Angua called out.

"Uh, Sarge?"

Colon coughed hurriedly. "Yes miss?"

"Do you have any shirts, or cloaks or anything?"

"Um, I can have a look..." Colon looked around the empty room dispiritedly. Whilst signs of occupation were plenty, there was a certain lack of wardrobeness.

With a resigned sigh, he began unbuckling his armour and pulled his jerkin over his head, hoping that it didn't smell too badly of sweat. Chivalrously he passed it over the top of the desk that Angua was crouched behind, turning his head, to muffled thanks.

A few seconds later Angua emerged. Both stared in surprise at the other. Angua was wearing Colon's jerkin, the large size hanging loosely off her slender frame and ending mid thigh.

Colon was left in his white vest, his pale skin slightly shiny with a faint sheen of perspiration, his already red face flushing an even deeper scarlet under the scrutiny. Stripped of his armour Fred's rounded stomach found no restriction and hung gently over the straining waistband of his breeches.

Angua was the first to break the loaded silence. She coughed, embarrassed.

"I, er, don't suppose you fancy opening that bottle of rum, Sarge?" referring to Colon's 'secret' stash, that was in fact an open secret at the Yard.

"Um, ok," Fred moved as if on autopilot, and pushed a glass of the liquid over the desk.

Angua took the glass gratefully and took a large gulp of the fiery liquid, feeling the burn down her throat.

Fred settled himself in a chair next to Angua and wordlessly drank in the surprisingly companiable silence. A soft yawn next to him made him turn round, and the sight before him made the words die in his throat. Angua was curled up in her chair, and her head... _was leaning softly against his shoulder_...the soft strands of her ash blonde hair tickled his neck and the warmth of her soothed him in a way he daren't examine too closely.

Unbidden, he looked down into the pretty features of the werewolf, and fixed on the slightly parted lips that, through the slightly drunken mind of the Sergeant, called him more urgently than a sudden summons from the Patrician himself.  _One taste_ , he told himself,  _just one_...

* * *

_For this pairing, the only way I could work it was with an ambiguous ending ;)_

**_Comments?_ **


	6. Samuel Vimes & Sergeant Fred Colon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See previous chapters for the explanation of how this particular collection came about and the characters involved.

They stared at the alcohol. They drank the alcohol. The glasses seemed to be refilling themselves. Vimes wasn't about to argue. They stared at the alcohol. They drank the alcohol.

However, out of the two of them,  _he_  was the serious drinker. Colon was more of a "one for me if they're in the offing, ta" type. Tonight, though, he seemed determined to sink a ship. His missus had left and said she was going back to her mum's, Fred was a disappointment. That was territory Vimes really  _was_  familiar with - he spent his life disappointing people. Women, colleagues, his mother, just about anyone you care to mention. And now, well, he disappointed himself. At least whisky kept silent. Until it made you open your mouth to make a fool out of you, that is.

Fred couldn't handle disappointment. He couldn't handle the sort of heavy duty drinking he was doing right now, either. He was a simple man, was Fred. But inside that fat body, and appearance of genial stupidity, lay a man easy to wound. And his wife had gone straight for the heart. Vimes snorted to himself.  _Women_. Best off out of it. Not an honest one among em, they all lie and let you down in the end. They start off saying they love you as you are, then bit by bit try to make you change - different job, different clothes, more time, more money...the list of demands was endless. He couldn't be bothered. Lies, that's all he had been left with. Lies, and the knowledge that he was bad news.

He cocked an ear; Fred was bubbling into his latest pint. He'd stopped making sense at least a couple of hours ago, now he could only string a series of esses together. He felt quite sorry for old Fred, he wasn't cut out for the cynicism that pushed a man to drink. Vimes threw back his scotch and clapped Fred on the back with a squelching noise, quickly wiping the sweat off his hand.

Unsteadily, the pair made their meandering way back to Vimes' lodgings, by way of a cheap bottle of Bearhugger's, randomly bouncing off any available wall, beggar, bridge, and even a black clad assassin huddling in the depths of the shadows, en route.

* * *

 _...mmm, 's warm..._  Vimes squeezed his eyes shut tighter, unwilling to let go of the delicious feeling of being cocooned in the clouds of sleep and this delicious feeling of  _warmth_ , the kind that can only come from the body heat of another person. He wriggled comfortably, murmuring softly as he drifted back towards deeper sleep, unconsciously turning his face towards the source of heat.

Over on his side of the narrow bed, Colon smacked his lips together with a soft snort. He fidgeted slightly, unconsciously stretching out his legs and tangling them with the legs of the other occupant. He rolled over to one side and his face dropped into the other person's neck. Peacefully, Colon slumbered on.

* * *

Vimes rose gradually from the pink clouds of sleep, like a mighty behemoth surfacing from the deep. As he blinked owlishly and fought the thumping that had started in his head like a troll with a grudge, the icy cold trickle of realisation dripped into his consciousness.

_There's someone else in the bed with me..._

Vimes was not a man that generally brought women back to his quarters. He was too cynical to attract the one-night-stands or tuppeny uprights, plus a lady wouldn't smell like a brewery and stale farts...

Ever so slowly, Vimes turned his head. Fred Colon looked back up at him from the bunched up pillow that had, up until 2 minutes earlier, had his head on it. Colon gave him a watery smile as Vimes continued to gaze at his colleague in unadulterated horror, possible scenarios to explain their current position racing across his mind. As Colon moved to sit up, the thin blanket dropped from both men exposing each to the gaze of the other.

Two faces simultaneously paled. The contrast between pale and chubby, and wind-tanned and lean, was quite remarkable. As was the timing of the simultaneous and heartfelt "...shit".

* * *

 _ **Comments?**_   _*ducks*_


	7. Cheery Littlebottom & Lady Sybil

**On the Roll of a Dice**

* * *

**Pairing** : Cheery Littlebottom / Lady Sybil Ramkin

 **Rating** : K+

* * *

Looking back I'm still not sure what happened. Or how. All I know is that one day, I saw... _things_...differently. I saw  ** _her_** differently. It was as sudden as looking back up at someone and feeling as if the sun has just dawned into your world, except in my case, I arrived at work one morning and  _SHE_  appeared.

All of the stereotypes happened. I stared, everything slowed, her smile lit up my world and, for me, everything else ceased to exist. I could not have been more dumbstruck if I had been struck with lightening.  
Her voice, when she spoke, sang to my soul like the sweetest saga ever forged.

As the alchemical expert, it was my happy duty to accompany her to her home to help investigate a problem with her dragons - an attempted break in to her dragon shed. I could see how distressing this was for her and my arms ached with keeping them still when all I found myself wanting to do was to hold her hand and soothe her fears.

She was talking about the breeding programme she has for them. Her swamp dragons. I could see the pride and joy light up her face, the smile making her come alive. I remember standing shaking with the force of my emotion as I tried to remember how to lift fingerprints off steel.

Her proximity assaulted every one of my senses - her perfume consumed me like fog, the warmth emanating from her presence seemed to suck me in like a vortex, her voice slid over me in a wave of aural ecstasy and when she turned those chocolate eyes upon me...I could have drowned in those windows to her soul. I believed I could see straight in to the deepest parts of her.

Walking back to Pseudopolis Yard that day gave me time to think.

Who was it who said  _"Love is the wisdom of the fool and the folly of the wise?" *_

Oh folly, folly, that you fall in love with your Commander's wife.

* * *

**_Comments always appreciated_ **

_***** _ _Quote by Samuel Johnson_


	8. A.E.Pessimal & Samuel Vimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: A.E.Pessimal & Samuel Vimes
> 
> Rating: K+

His fingers dance across the paper with a grace that belies his appearance, pausing occasionally in thought, pencil tapping. A frown creases the strong brow, the hair still thick and dark with a peppering of grey at the temples, the dark eyes sharp and unforgiving. The fingers move again, sorting through the neat stack of paper having appeared upon the large desk that he reluctantly holds domain behind. The fingers are long, with large knuckles and a grip that I personally knew to be like iron. The backs are a weathered brown, in testament to the many years spent outside in all weathers. Now, of course, they are still outside, but through choice not necessity. Those fingers now find enjoyment in softer comforts, and feminine pleasure. How I envy the lady who has the undivided attention of those fingers, dancing a tattoo across tender flesh and seeking territory as yet unexplored. I squeeze my knees together at the thought.

Those fingers guard, they defend and protect. Scars make their pale mark upon his forearms and making lattice-work upon the rest of his body attest to the diligence of his duty. Those hands, I have no doubt, have taken life, have preserved life, have fought, have battled and maintained justice. How many have those hands pulled to safety, shielded, held and comforted?

The hands are still, one resting upon the other. There is a muted glint of gold underneath the fingers of his right hand. The glint of possessiveness, of belonging to another, a moniker that says " _out of reach_ ," declaring his unyielding love for someone whom I could never hope to replace.

As those fingers busy themselves with lighting a cigar, I watch hungrily as the cylinder is rolled unconsciously between thumb and forefinger.

Knowing this feeling is futile, knowing that he would see through my feeble attempts at deception, I decide that the only thing I can do is to keep watching his fingers.  _Don't look up_. _Don't let him see behind my eyes_.

His hands are safe. They protect. Don't they?


	9. Lady Sybil Ramkin / Fred Colon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred Colon discovers his chivalrous side.

 

"Good afternoon, Sergeant!"

The cut glass vowels and hearty enunciation, left Sergeant Fred Colon with absolutely no doubt as to who the caller was even before he lifted his head up, grateful for the excuse to leave the report he was ponderously attempting to write.

Lady Sybil Vimes, nee Ramkin, stood in front of the duty officer's desk, smiling a warm smile at him, her chestnut hair shining in the light of the candles and a dark green dress with black stole accentuating her full, womanly figure.

"Afternoon your Ladyship," Colon said smartly. "Are you looking for Mister Vimes?"

Lady Sybil nodded as she readjusted her stole.

"I thought I would come myself rather than send Willikins. We're going to the Opera, even though Sam has tried his best to wriggle out of it. It was a personal invite from the Director himself, it looks bad if Sam doesn't go. He knows this," she added sternly.

Colon began to squirm. He knew exactly where Sam was and it wasn't in his office.  _Why did he have to put me in this position_ , he thought silently.  _It isn't fair._

Lady Sybil was looking expectantly at him. He averted his gaze and coughed guiltily.

"Er," he began wretchedly.

For a few moments there was silence. Then a small sigh, just on the edge of hearing. Somehow that small sigh was worse than any amount of shouting or crying that could have happened, not that Lady Sybil would have done that.

"He's not coming, is he?" She said flatly.

"Er, doesn't look like it, your Ladyship."

"Where is he?"

"He, er, left a note, your Ladyship. Close to a breakthrough, he said."

Lady Sybil turned a grim face back to Fred Colon.

"He's close to  _something_ , Sergeant, that much is for sure."

She pulled her stole tighter around her shoulders, shivering slightly.

"There's no point hanging around. I dare say I'll see Sam at home." She paused. " _Eventually_ ," she added with a wry smile.

Colon felt simultaneously acute embarrassment at being party to the oncoming domestic between his superior and his wife, and growing anger at him for treating Lady Sybil like this. Even though Vimes did not discuss any issues in his marriage particularly, the squad knew of his loathing of the trappings and expectations of his position. Unfortunately this often left his wife high and dry. Something else the squad knew, as Lady Sybil wasn't above coming down to Pseudopolis Yard to tell Vimes her opinion on the matter. In a refined and gentle fashion, of course.

There was growing anger in the ranks at their Commander's behaviour. Lady Sybil occupied a special place in the Watch. Every man, woman, dwarf, troll, undead, unalive, and everything in between, would cheerfully throw themselves in front of Chrysoprase high on Slab to protect her.

Only Vimes didn't seem to understand what he was doing; and for the life of him, Colon couldn't understand what his superior was thinking. Colon, a very much married man, happened to love his wife. Underneath his stupid, slow exterior, Colon had a lot of affection for his wife, worshipped his kids and doted on the grandchildren. Colon also knew, through years of association, that Vimes finally had everything he had ever wanted (and more) and to see him hurting a woman like Lady Sybil over and over through sheer thoughtless was more than Colon could stand. What was worse was that Colon did not think it was just thoughtlessness. Most of the time Sam knew precisely what he was doing, and chose to do it anyway.

He clenched one pudgy fist as his anger grew.

Lady Sybil was making her way back to the front door, back straight, chin lifted proudly and footsteps determined.

Colon hurried as fast as his bulk would allow him from behind the desk and intercepted Lady Sybil as she reached the door. She turned in surprise as Colon stopped her, wheezing gently.

"Er, Lady Sybil, there's no point going back to be by yourself, like," Sergeant Colon stammered awkwardly. He only knew that he felt he had to try to do something,  _anything_ , to try to save the situation. "Why not have a drink while you're here?"

Only anger could have fuelled Colon's forwardness and decisiveness, because in the normal state of affairs thinking was as alien as a bicycle to a fish.

"Drinking on duty, Sergeant?" Lady Sybil smiled as she said it, touched that the man had seen her disappointment and that he wanted to try to help alleviate it, however small.

Colon flushed. Lady Sybil, however, was gracious right through to the bone.

"I would love a drink Sergeant, thank you." She smiled as she stepped around the duty officer's desk, and took a seat, glancing around at the empty squad room. It was sufficiently late in the day for the afternoon patrols to not be back yet, but not yet so late enough for the evening shift to start.

"Well, er, there's tea, or coffee too," Colon mumbled. Lady Sybil nodded as he located a teapot and headed for the canteen. Inside his head, railing against his consciousness that he was studiously ignoring, he kept thinking " _why isn't Sam here? Why is Sam leaving a woman like her all on her own? What IS Sam doing? Why?_ _ **Why**_ _?_ " The mantra repeated itself over and over until it thudded dully in time with his pulse.

As he returned, Lady Sybil stood abruptly. As she stood, he saw a minute flicker in her eyes as she glanced over his shoulder. Colon turned as Commander Vimes shut the door behind him, pausing as he saw his wife and Sergeant standing together in the empty squad room.

Lady Sybil glanced back at Sergeant Colon, his already ruddy complexion reddening further. As he met her eyes, for just the tiniest moment,  _something_  flickered, before it was gone, and she was walking past him to the arm of her husband. As she reached the door, she turned gracefully; an elegant silhouette against the twilight drawing in and the warm glow of the lamp.

"Thank you, Sergeant," she said simply.

Before Colon could regain control of his mouth or senses, the door had closed behind her.

"Anytime," he said into the silence. "Anytime."

* * *

**_Comments?_ **


	10. Sam Vimes & Nobby Nobbs

**Pairing** : Sam Vimes/Nobby Nobbs

 **Rating** : K

* * *

Cpl CW St. J Nobbs stared at the flight of stairs leading to Commander Vimes' office with not an inconsequential amount of trepidation. An old pal of Nobby's had had the good fortune to come across some discarded military uniforms down by the docks and some of them still had pers'nal items in. Like their bodies, f'r instance. Nobby intended to have the evening off to go and, er,  _investigate_. The only trouble was that he couldn't think of an excuse that Mister Vimes hadn't heard before. Many times, in some cases.

Nobby scowled, the action causing his many boils and excrescences to rearrange quite colourfully on his face. Well, nuffin for it. Nobby puffed out his pigeon chest and squared what passed for his shoulders as he slowly climbed the stairs with the air of a man approaching the gallows. As he neared the top, Nobby slowed even further. He convulsively swallowed, replaying in his mind his most recent liberation of the petty cash and the recent acquisition of a pair of boots that, speffically, didn't belong to him, but in a wider, more general sense, did.

Cautiously Nobby knocked on Vimes door. After a minute or two he tried again.

Vimes was leaning back in his chair, boots crossed on his desk. He was clearly not expecting company. This was evidenced by the fact that he was fast asleep. Yup, head back, hands folded on his stomach, helmet pulled forward...definitely fast asleep. Nobby panicked. Waking Vimes up would put, him, Nobby, in the firing line of Vimes' wrath.

Nobby looked again at his superior, and found his gaze pulled back to Vimes jaw as if it was snagged by invisible hooks. In his relaxed slumber Vimes looked peaceful, a condition so alien to his waking state as to warrant extinction. Nobby found it fascinating. His roving gaze locked on to the faint flutter of Vimes pulse that he could see under the soft skin of his neck. Even in the cool air of Vimes office Nobby felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck. His gaze was pulled back to the sleeping man in front of him. Seemingly without guidance, his eyes travelled down the planes of the supine form, as if he was taking a desperate inventory, for he knew this would never happen again.  _Is this what Lady Sybil sees every night?_  he wondered, and startled himself with the jealous constriction that he found surrounding his heart.

_No. No. No._

Nobby stepped quickly backwards, panic and terror making the little man clumsy in his desperation to flee. As he turned, he tripped over the chair next to Vimes desk, blind and deaf he continued his rush for the door.

With a jump Vimes leapt to his feet, senses jangling and automatically reaching for his sword, as he saw the back of Nobby literally running down the stairs from his office.

He stared, mystified, as he rubbed his face.

"What the hell...?"

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**_Comments?_ **


	11. Sam Vimes & Cheery Littlebottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: K

The door to Vimes's office opened after the perfunctory knock.

Vimes did not look up.

At the periphery of his vision he saw Sergeant Littlebottom's heeled boots tap smartly up to the edge of his desk before stopping. Vimes's hand paused in its writing, the pen gripped slightly too tightly.

The texture of the air in the office changed.

Everything felt slightly too loud, too on edge. The scritching of his pen on the paper sounded like a saw in his ears, the birds outside seemed to be chirping down megaphones and his breathing sounded like a thunderous roar to himself.

He swallowed the strange feeling down.

He glanced to the top of his page.

"Sergeant Littlebottom. What can I do for you?" He interrogated the pen still clutched in his right hand.

"Report from the Miller Warehouse job, Sir."

With his left hand he indicated a smaller pile of paper on the edge of his desk. His gaze slid across the paraphernalia in his line of sight, resting on a bunch of keys. As he did so, Sergeant Littlebottom's hand came into view, holding a piece of paper. Her feminine, small hand with pearlescent nail varnish.

Vimes concentrated on signing the document he was working on, willing himself to ignore the waft of perfume that accompanied the movement of her hand.

"Is that everything?" Vimes asked the inkstand, tracing a scratch on the surface of his desk with his eyes.

"Yessir."

Vimes nodded at the fresh sheet of paper he had pulled towards him, initialling the first paragraph.

After a few moments heeled footsteps tapped across the room, a flash of boots and the edge of a leather skirt teasingly on the edge of his vision as the door opened and closed.

Only _then_ did he look up.


	12. Lady Sybil & AE Pessimal

Pairing: Lady Sybil/AE Pessimal

Rating: T

 

There was something in the way that she moved that entranced him. A force surrounded her more powerful than gravity, than oxygen, than the will of the gods even, and AE Pessimal could no more resist than water flow uphill.

Lady Ramkin. Ram-kin. He never tired of repeating her name to himself, conveniently forgetting her true name was Lady Vimes - or, more accurately, Her Grace the Duchess of Ankh. AE Pessimal was happy to accept that title for her, it made no mention of her inconvenient husband. Or, as AE Pessimal preferred to think of her, Sybil. It was a name made for intimacy, a name that conjured up girlish innocence, whispered nothings and fluttering hearts. When AE Pessimal closed his eyes he could see her beautiful brown eyes sparkling as she looked up at him, with the look that told him there was only him. Her lips move closer to him, whispering words only the two of them can know, her lips now kissing his with a passion he had never known. AE Pessimal invariably opened his eyes at this point, guilt and pent up desire bringing the daydream to a premature end.

On the days when he simply couldn't wait he opened the locked drawer of his desk in his sparsely furnished bedroom. Inside the drawer was a locked box. Inside the box was a collection of very secret iconographs he had had taken. The imp had been extremely expensive but, as AE Pessimal surveyed the covert images of Sybil, the cost had been well worth it.

This obsession was going to be the end of him.


End file.
